it's days like this that make the rest worthwhile
by MinaRosette
Summary: "Loki knew, the moment he stepped up onto the jagged cliff, that this plan could only go horribly, horribly wrong." When Loki is injured saving both Thor and Jane, Thor takes him to midgard to heal. After Malekith is defeated and the trickster god healed, Loki disappears. TDW Svartalfheim AU. mild Thor/Jane, Darcy/Loki friendship
1. dread

**A/N** So, I have written a fanfic (a proper one), or at least the first chapter of a fanfic. This is, again, my first fic, and I am slightly very unsure about it (My writing). So, not to be one of those whiny people who beg for reviews, but...they would be appreciated? Especially constructive critism. I would actually really, really love it if people could give me pointers and tips and stuff. Tell me what I'm doing wrong! Plus reviews will keep me motivated to keep writing. Because my school production of Macbeth is just starting to get rolling, so I will be busy and need encouragement!

On another note, we get our parts tomorrow. I'm hoping for Lady Macbeth, but it's pretty unlikely. I'm super nervous-excited though. Anyway, you don't care about that. On to the story!

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. ;)**

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He had known, from the moment he stepped up onto the jagged cliff and saw Malekith watching them from below, that this plan could only go horribly, horribly wrong. Even as he began playing his part, slipping out a concealed dagger, turning it on Thor, he felt the slowly creepingly growing, gnawing dread settle itself in his gut.

He shoved Thor down the mountainside, and quickly followed after, careful not to trip and fall on the treacherously loose pebbles. He heard the mortal woman scrambling down after them, calling out in fear for Thor, screaming insults at Loki.

They reached the bottom, and Loki swung his foot brutally into Thor's face when he tried to scramble to his feet. Thor reached his hand out, summoning Mjolnir from where it had flown from his grasp. Loki swung his knife, cast the illusion of cutting Thor's hand off. He heard Jane cry out behind him and turned on her, careful to keep his face the manic grin of a predator as it spots its prey.

With a yelp she was whipped around, Loki's dagger at her throat.

"I am Loki, of Jotunheim, and I bring you a gift!" He managed not to stumble on the dreaded word, swallowing down his revulsion as he announced himself as _of Jotunheim. _Managed not to let the whirlwind of fear, hate, and anger show on his face as he threw the woman to the ground, all his focus on the foul, Kursed monster who had murdered his mother. Managed not to charge him in a fit of blind rage as he spouted hateful lies to gain the dark elf's trust, and hid a smile as the Kursed confirmed his words.

And when Jane was lifted of the ground, arms spread wide and eyes glassy with things unseen, he did not let his mounting terror and dread show, but kept up a calm, cool, smugly pleased façade, and waited for the right moment.

The Aether pulled out of the mortal, flowing and swirling, somehow hard and fluid and sharp and smooth all at once, spinning and weaving, and absolutely, entrancingly beautiful. It rose up, and hovered, still in the air for just a moment.

A moment was all they needed.

At Thor's sharp "Now!" Loki turned, released the illusion on Thor's hand, and dove on top of Jane where she had crumpled to the ground. He squinted against the brightness of Thor's lightning as he slammed it as hard as he could into the Aether. There was a burst if light and noise–

And then there was silence, calm, still. For a moment, Loki felt his heart slow, hope rising. _Had it actually worked?_

And then the shards of the Aether began to rise.

In an instant, any beginnings of hope Loki may have felt were dashed to the ground, where they splintered, piercing him with sharp needles of despair.

_It didn't work_.

The Aether streamed together, whole, undamaged. It once again paused, hung still, before flowing into Malekith, who stood arms wide, welcoming and am racing it. And as the last glimmer of the Aether disappeared, absorbed into Malekith, he opened his glinting, silver eyes, and looked right at Loki.

And the dread that had been gnawing at Loki manifested itself into a certainty.

_It didn't work, and we're all going to die._

Malekith's cool, disinterested gaze slid off Loki, and he turned towards his ship, casually tossing a black hole grenade behind him, as if it were a piece of litter into the waste bin. Loki quickly dived into Jane, shoving her out of the way. But the swirling drag caught him, and he was pulled back towards his certain, painful death.

Time seemed to freeze; his blood ran cold. He had thought he wished to die when he fell from the Bifrost, those two eons-long years ago, but now, faced with his imminent death, he knew he had been so, so wrong. He struggled, trying desperately to break free of the vice-like pull.

He met the eyes of the frail, weak mortal lying on the ground before him, and knew that every bit of the terror he felt was written a plain as could be across his face. He saw the same fear mirrored in Janes eyes, his desperately calling out for help, and hers frantically staring back, helpless and terrified.

For him.

He froze, shocked, surprised, confused, and then the moment was broken as Thor slammed into him, knocking him free of the black hole's greedy fingers.

Loki pulled himself to his feet, shaken and exhausted from one of the longest seconds in his life.

He locked eyes with Thor, and a moment of understanding passed between them. Thor flew off towards Malekith and the Kursed, and Loki shifted, nervously fingering his knife, as he shifted his focus to the dark elves surrounding him, lining up his first few spells.

Let them attack first.

They came at him, and he spun into action, elbows, fists, and knife flying; jabbing, slashing, stabbing, spells firing from his fingers. It was over in seconds, in a fluid motion he spun the last elf around, slit his throat, broke his neck, and let him drop to the side. He stood breathing for a moment, then looked to see how Thor was faring.

Malekith and his ship were gone, and the Kursed was beating Thor into the ground. He turned to where the mortal lay on the ground.

"Stay–"

She wasn't there.

Cursing, Loki cast frantically around for her. She was stagger-limp-running towards Thor, a dark elf spear clutched in her hand. Loki cursed again and ran after her. She was going to get them all killed.

She reached them before Loki caught up, and crying out, pulled the spear back awkwardly to stab the Kursed the ought the back. Everything about her grip, stance, and movement were wrong, and, had the speared reached it's goal, it would have penetrated barely an inch.

As it was, the Kursed turned, grabbed the speared, and backhanded Jane a good ten feet backwards through the air. She landed hard and didn't move. The Kursed spared her an indifferent glance, the turned back to Thor, who called out her name, and struggled to stand. The Kursed deftly spun the spear point-down and plunged it through the thunder god's stomach.

Thor let out a roar of pain, and now it was Loki who screamed Thor's name.

Loki reached the Kursed, and viciously attacked, fueled by rage and hate. This beast had murdered his mother, and very probably his Rother as well, and Loki would make him _pay_. He slashed and kicked screamed insults the whole time, too enraged to notice the brutal beating he himself was taking. He didn't even feel I when his right arm snapped clean in half, or when a brutal kick shattered several ribs.

He fought on, long and hard and furious, until finally the Kursed smashed him into the ground. He pulled a knife from it sheath on his hip, and raised it over Loki's heart. And as he swung it down Loki raised his hands to his chest and shot fifty sharp, deadly spines of ice through the Kursed's chest. Loki grabbed a grenade from the beast's belt, kicked him off and to the ground, pushed the button and threw.

Five seconds later the Kursed was gone, and Loki stood, swaying and dazed. He took a shaky, half-stumble step back, staring blankly at the scorched, torn-up, battle-scarred ground. A moan off to his left startled him out of his trance, where the mortal was stirring.

He was suddenly acutely aware of the throbbing pain in his arm, the stabbing and tightness of air in his chest, the stinging, burning, pounding pain throughout his whole body. He swayed again, blinking at Jane, before turning and stumbling to Thor.

When he reached him he fell to his knees, immediately feeling for a pulse. He sighed a breath of relief when he felt one. Faint, but there.

"Is he dead?"

Loki glanced over his shoulder. Jane had followed him to Thor's side, and was peering over his shoulder, worry etched deep into her face.

Loki shook his head. "Just unconscious." He winced at his voice, raw from screaming.

Closing his eyes, Loki placed his hands over the wound, magic sparking around them. He reached tendrils of magic into the wound, working slowly and methodically, knitting together muscle and bone, replenishing blood. When he finally opened his eyes and pulled away his hands all traces of the wound were gone, save the jagged hole in Thor's armour.

Loki sat back, breathing heavily. He vaguely heard Jane gasp behind him, but his head was spinning, his pulse throbbing in his ears. The last thing he remembered was Thor's eyes opening, their bright blue hurting his already pounding head. He smiled.

And everything went black.

* * *

**A/N **So yeah. Good? Bad? Tips? I probably won't write quite so long authors notes in the future...


	2. talk

**so, new chapter. Yay! Thank you to the people who reviewed, faved and added alerts. You keep me going!**

**disclaimer: I don't own it**

* * *

Thor blinked his eyes open. Despite the gloomy surroundings, the meagre light still hurt his eyes. He winced. It felt as though someone was reapedly smashing him over the head with Mjolnir, and he could feel the tingling remnants of magic twisting uncomfortably in his stomach.

_Magic...Loki!_

Thor quickly turned his head, and was greeted by the sight of Jane leaning over him. His attention was immediately drawn to the dark scrapes and bruising on her cheek. He began reaching towards it, when he paused, catching sight of Loki.

If the bruising on Jane's face was bad, then Loki's was twenty times worse. The whole left side of his face was mottled black, purple, and yellow; and oozing blood. His hair was tangled and matted with flood and dirt, and hung in his face; his eyes stared vacantly at the hole Thor's armour.

"Loki?"

At his voice, Loki gave what would been a start, had he been anything but bone-deep exhausted. As it was, it was a sluggish, jerky pulling back of the shoulders and turning of the neck, accompanied by several heavy blinks and his glassy gaze focused on Thor's face. There was a dull flash of recognition, and Loki stretched his split, bloody lips into a grin. The grin was equal parts amused, self-deprecating, relieved, sad, weary, pained, and insane.

And then Loki's eyes rolled back in their sockets, and he slumped forward over Thor's body.

"Loki!"

Thor pushed himself up, rolling his brother's body onto the ground, and frantically checking for signs of life. Satisfied that Loki was only unconscious, not dead, Thor sat back on his heels and turned to Jane.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

Jane opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. Finally she stuttered out,

"I-I, I don't know! I was– th-the elves, or whatever, they where everywhere! And Loki was fighting them, and-and it was terrifying– and then, you– that thing, it was killing you! And I didn't think, I just-I just ran at it, and it hit me, and I– it must have knocked me out, because the next thing I knew Loki was standing there, and he was _covered_ in blood, and I really don't think his arm should do that, and that..._thing_ was gone. And then there– there was this huge, bloody _hole_ through your stomach– and you were just _lying_ there, and I was so scared, and I thought you were dead, and then Loki did something, and it was just- just _gone_, and then you woke up, and he collapsed, and–"

"Shh, Jane. Calm down. It's alright." Thor pulled her tiny, trembling body to his chest, and wrapped his arms around her.

Now that he could see all of it, the state of Loki's body was truly horrific. There were numerous gashes through his armour, and it was soaked almost entirely with blood. And, as Jane had said, one of his arms was bent at a painful angle, clearly broken clean in two.

"We must get Loki and ourselves to shelter. I'll need you to help me carry him to the caves at the mountain base. Can you do that?"

Jane nodded against his shoulder. "Yeah."

Thor pulled away from her, the helped her to her feet. Then, on his command, he and Jane heaved Loki up by the underarms, and Thor threw Loki's unbroken arm over his shoulders. Jane walked on Loki's other side, keeping steadying hands on his chest and back, and helping support his weight. The began the long trudge through the whip-like winds towards the base of the mountains.

They finally reached a cave, and Thor entered first, Jane following after. Thor set Loki gently against the wall, and slumped down upon a rock next to him. Jane dis likewise, on the otherwise of the narrow cave mouth. For a few long minutes the only sounds where those of harsh, weary gasping, eventually evening out into gently breaths. It was Thor who broke the silence.

"Are you sure you are quite alright? The bruising on your face is quite severe, and you must have hit the ground with great force from the Kursed beast's strike. Do you need—"

"I'm _fine_ Thor!" She snapped.

Thor started, his mouth clicking shut, his eyes wide. Jane sighed and lowered her head.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you. I just...I'm not used to all this–" she paused, searching for the right word. "...violence."

Thor nodded in understanding. "I know how you feel. The first time I saw a true battle I ran terrified to my mother, and had nightmares for a week."

Jane smiled weakly. "I think I'll probably have nightmares for longer than a week." The smile slipped from her face, and she once again turned her eyes to the ground. An awkward silence stretched between them.

A few minutes later, Jane spoke again. "Is he... is he gonna be okay?" She nodded toward Loki.

"I do not know." Thor sighed deeply, his forehead creased. "Though his wounds are severe, he could easily heal himself, had he not used his magic on me. I fear that if Loki does not have a chance to rest properly and recover his magic, he may not recover. If only there were some place he might rest other than this hard wet cave floor."

Jane opened her mouth to reply, and was cut off by a loud blare of music, if it could even be called that.

She started, and the look of perturbation and mild disgust on Thor's face would have been funny in a different situation.

"It is not me..."

But Jane had already pulled out her phone and was looking at it incredulously. She tentatively pressed answer and held it to her ear.

"Hello?...Richard!...how am I even getting signal down here? This is incredible!...No! Don't stop talking,..." She glanced over her shoulder at Thor, and beckoned him forward.

Thor knelt and scooped Loki into his arms and followed Jane, still in the dark as to what was happening. Jane, still half-engaged with her phone call, gestured to the various items strewn across the back of the cave, mouthing _earth_. She suddenly stopped, a grin lighting up her face, and picked something up from the floor.

She jangled the key ring at him, then stepped forward and disappeared. Thor panicked and ran after, and found himself in some sort of Midgardian building. It was high ceilinged, wide, and somewhat shabby. _Some sort of storage house?_

Jane awkwardly finished up the conversation as they headed for the door. Once outside, Thor recognised the building as the place from which he had taken Jane, but three days before.

Jane led the way to the car, which had been heavily graffitied, and opened the back door. Thor carefully maneuvered Loki onto the seats, laying him down as best as he could in the cramped space. These Midgardian vehicles were most certainly _not_ built for Asgardians.

When Loki was properly situated, Thor squeezed himself into the front seat, where he sat very uncomfortably, head bowed, knees up.

Jane smothered a laugh at his awkwardness, and started the car.

They arrived at the apartment ten minutes later. Jane got out and waited while Thor lifted Loki back out of the car. Once he was out she closed the door, then led Thor up the steps to the apartment. She got out the key and put it in the lock.

The moment the door swung open Eric, Darcy, and someone Thor had never seen before looked up, startled. Jane walked into the living room, and Thor could hear Eric's excited "Jane!" and Jane asking why he wasn't wearing pants.

"He says it helps him think." Said Darcy.

Thor steeled himself to walk into the room, knowing his brother's presence would be unwelcome. Just as he stepped in he heard Eric's voice turn concerned.

"Is Thor with you? You didn't bring Loki with–"

He froze in shock as Thor rounded the corner.

"No. No no no no no. No, he can't be here." Eric shook his head violently.

"Friend Eric," Thor implored. "My brother is in dire need of help. I ask only that you let him rest here until he is well, then I promise you he will leave and you need never see him again."

Eric hesitated, and Jane pounced on the moment. "Please, Eric? Just till he's better?"

He relented under the power of her puppy eyes. He never had been able to resist them.

"Fine. But only till he's better."

Thor gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Eric Selvig."

Eric nodded, then shuffled off to his room. He may let the trickster god stay till he was well, but he would by no means spend that time anywhere near the manipulative bastard. He would be in his room, Thank you very much.

Jane turned to Darcy, who was standing with the strangest expression on her face, staring at Loki. "Darcy, could you show Thor to the guest room?"

"Huh?" Darcy's gaze snapped up. "Oh, yeah, of course. Follow me."

She waved her hand vaguely, and led Thor down the hall. Jane was left alone with the intern–Ian?–in the living room. She flopped into a chair, exhausted.

"Is that...the guy who attacked New York last year?" Asked intern-Ian timidly.

"Yeah." Jane gave him a wan smile. "Just don't question it. It's crazy, but lately my life has consisted entirely of crazy. You get used to it."

Intern Ian nodded mutely.

When Thor and Darcy returned to the living room, they were deep in a discussion of some sort.

"Wait, he seriously said that? At that moment? What did he expect was going to happen?"

"Neither my father or I realised at the time the true depth of the hurt and betrayal my brother felt. His anguish was greater than we thought, or...wished to acknowledge, and by the time we realised our error it was too late."

"That's awful..."

"Yes, truly it is..."

Jane and Ian were pulled into the story, Thor restarting it for their benefit, and they talked for a good couple hours, Thor sharing Loki's story from that fateful trip to Jotunheim to the present, and from there their talk turned towards what to do to fight Malekith, for Jane had seen while possessed by the Aether that earth was his next target. The spoke on past the sundown, and well into the night.

* * *

** My one note for this chapter is on the pacing. Many of you probably feel that this story is going pretty fast, or too fast. That is because the fight with Malekith is _not _the main plot line. I'm not gonna say what the main plot line _is, _but hopefully you'll like it. And, I have special mini chapter thing thay I'll post in a couple days. ;)**


	3. MINI: darcy

**one thing I often do when writing stories is come up with little mini sections that don't really fit into the chapter at large, but I don't want to not use. Therefore, the mini-chapters, of which this is the first, were born. I present to you... Darcy's thoughts on Loki and Fanfiction.**

* * *

Darcy didn't really know what to make of Loki. For one, She'd never even met him. Properly met him; seeing him carried unconscious through her boss's apartment doesn't count. Yes, she knew it was him behind New York last year, and that giant fire-breathing robot in Pueto Antiguo the year before, and _logically_ her instincts should be screaming to run and hide, or scream at him in anger. She didn't know all the details, but from what she had heard of his would-be conquering of earth he was sadistic, manipulative, and didn't give a shit about killing 'pathetic mortals.'

She had thought that if she ever met him she would feel fear and loathing. But when she first caught sight of his bruised, bloody, undeniably handsome face as he lay comatose in Thor's arms, she was surprised by the lack of negative feelings. She by no means felt any sort of sympathy, or pity for him, but more a strange fascination. There was something about his face; it seemed so young under the layers of blood, grime, and bruising. She figured if he was mortal he would only be a few years older than her. And God knows _she_ was too young for all this.

And she knew it was stupid, but watching as Thor gently lay him in the spare bed and peeled of the outer layers of his ruined armour, she couldn't help but notice how..._harmless_ he seemed. Thor asked if she had any clothing he could put Loki in, and Darcy mentally yelled at herself as she fetched a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, and then waited outside the door as Thor changed Loki's clothes. _He's an immortal god, with magic, who tried to take over the world last year. He's anythin_g but _harmless_.

But she was still curious, and wasted no time asking Thor questions and she directed him to the washing machine, showed him what to do to make sure the stains came out, and threw Loki's half-ruined tunic and pants in to wash. Soon enough the whole story of what had happened on Asgard two years ago came out. When they got back to the living room Thor restarted the story for Jane and Ian's sake, and then continued through last years attack, up until the events of earlier that day.

As the night wore on, Thor turned to stories of Loki and his younger years. Darcy could hardly reconcile the bright, quiet, playful, and slightly shy Loki Thor spoke if now with the twisted, angry man she had heard of and seen on news feeds.

After a while, the conversation broke up, and Darcy went to bed. As she lay under her warm covers, her mind worked over everything that had happened today. And once again settled on Loki. She thought that if this was a movie, Loki would be the type of characters that all the girls are obsessed with. The hurt, twisted, angry, broken soul, who isn't _really_ evil. Just misunderstood.

She snorted to herself. _Yeah. And I can be the annoyingly perfect, pretty, sympathetic, and understanding girl who gives him the love he needs and makes him a better person. _Still chuckling to herself she rolled over. She wasn't stupid. If she tried that with Loki he would probably throw her out a window. She'd heard that's what he did to Tony Stark.

Nonetheless, she still found Loki interesting, fascinating even, and though the fanfiction method might not work, Darcy Lewis would find a way.

To be friends, though. She already had her eyes set on a different potential boyfriend.


	4. nightmare

**I got a new charger earlier than expected, but I got it at a very busy time, namely the Harvard Model United Nations 2014. So I've been writing whenever I can, between committees, and when I'm "writing working papers' (yeah right...), and I've finally got a chapter done. I hope you like it. There's some wonderful angst and plot movement (sort of) in this one. Enjoy!**

* * *

The following morning, Jane and Thor rose early to make breakfast. Soon the whole of their motley gang were drawn into the living room by the crisply crackling scent of bacon frying, and the sweet spice of nutmeg-cinnamon pancakes. All but Loki, that is, for he was still unconscious, although Thor reported that his wounds were greatly healed, and he should be awake and about quite soon. Jane was the only one who seemed to feel any genuine good cheer at this news; Darcy and Ian smiled half-heartedly, and Erik muttered something about "the sooner he's gone the better" under his breath.

They made small talk throughout the meal, purposely ignoring the elephant in the room, and taking what little time they could to simply enjoy the good company, and get to know it a bit better.

After breakfast, however, when the dishes were cleared, cleaned and put away, the air grew heavy, the atmosphere serious, and discussions began.

Erik immediately began rambling enthusiastically about the 'convergence,' and Darcy took that as her cue to leave. It's not like she would contribute anything to the conversation, and they could fill her in on what she had missed when she got back. Besides, she had forgotten about Loki's laundry last night, and it would be rude not to finish what she'd started.

She really didn't want to have to listen to uncomprehendingly science-y talk.

Darcy fetched his clothes from the washing machine, where that had sat all night, shook them, checked them for any remaining bloodstains, and threw them into the dryer.

As she waited through the drying cycle, she absently picked up Loki's ornate shoulder guard from where it lay among the rest of his leather, belts, straps, and metal. The whole piece was worked with beautiful carvings of fantastical animals, and foreign-looking designs. They were foreign, she supposed, just in a much more drastic sense than usual. She set the shoulder guard down again, and pulled out her iPod.

Half an hour later, the dryer beeped. She pulled out his clothing, noting, now that it was no longer crusted in dirt and blood, the quality of the cloth. The tunic was woven of the finest threads, unnaturally soft, light, and airy; yet sturdy, and the deepest, brightest green. The pants were a slightly denser weave, and from a distance seemed to be made of thick leather, yet still smooth and gentle.

"Lucky asshole..." She muttered, neatly folding the garments, and carrying them to the guest room.

She hesitated when she reached Loki's door, slowly pushing open the door and peeking in, wary of the sleeping god. Her eyes widened. _Thor wasn't lying when he said Loki's wounds were healing._

The deep bruising around his eye had faded to a sickly– but barely-there– yellow, and the cuts on his face had healed to shiny pink thread-thin lines. Placing the clean, folded laundry on the dresser, she lifted the blanket; and, sure enough, his formerly bent, broken arm was straight and whole, and the hideously swelling bruising around the fracture all but gone. She leant closer, scrutinising the skin around his various wounds.

"Damn." She murmured absently. She would _kill_ for super voodoo-healing-magic, not to mention skin as smooth, clear, flawless, and– she quickly touched his cheek– yes, soft, as his. She straightened, stood contemplating the sleeping god for a moment more, then turned and exited the room, quietly pulling the door closed behind her.

She stood in the hall for a moment more, then, with a sigh, rejoined the party in the living room.

* * *

_It was dark. So very, very dark, and cold, cold, cold. His thin frame shook, his brittle, aching bones screaming in protest. He gasped, tearing as the brutal spasms shook him, sharp fingers digging bloody pits in his arms as he desperately hugged himself for warmth. He curled over on the hard, hard, cold cold cold ground, whimpering, muttering, soft sobs pushing past his bloody, shredded mouth. It was so cold, cold; and blue blue blue blue blue _blue_, spreading, crawling, clawing its way down from his heart, burning through his arms, freezing, freezing, and cold, and so _blue_._

_He screamed, clawing at the blue with ragged black nails, get it off, get it off, get it off. He convulsed with a sob, wretched and desperate._

_'Mother, mother, help me, please please please, mother, mother, mother, mother, momma, momma, momma please. Please, please, please...'_

_He sobbed, cried out, tore the burnt earth and hard rock with his nails, breaking them and leaving bloody, fleshy trails along the ground._

_'Loki?'_

_He looked up. Mother, momma, she was here, she had come, she would help him–_

_'Momma!' He keened, the broken, helpless cry of a child._

_'Loki? How could you do this?'_

_He froze. 'Momma what? I didn't–'_

_But he had, because, soaking through her dress, spreading and wet and so, so warm, was blood, blood, deep and red and seeping, steaming; and in his hand was a dagger, and there was blood, blood, on his hands and shirt, and running down to puddles under his scabby knees. He dropped the knife, mouth open in an agonised wail, stumbling towards his mother. He held out his arms 'Momma, I didn't–'_

_But he was cut off by a roar of rage, and a familiar hammer smashed into his side, throwing him back onto the rocks. He felt his ribs cave in under the force of the blow, a sharp pain in his chest, and the sticky drowning throbbing of a punctured lung. In his pain-hazed eyes Thor was a terrifying vision of snarling anger, squinchy red face, and sharp bare teeth._

_'You monster! How dare you touch her!' Thor drove his foot hard into Loki's face, and Loki jerked back, blood and broken teeth falling to the ground. He sobbed through the pain, struggled to speak through his broken mouth._

_'Brother...please...'_

_But Thor paid him no heed, rushing to Frigga, where she lay gasping on the ground. Loki, bloody and tears streaming down his face, struggled onto all fours, and began painfully dragging himself towards them. An inch, two inches... His limbs trembled, spasmed, and he fell to the ground, a wretched, sobbing, choking cough pushing blood and mucus out of his lungs and mouth. He lay, helpless, as a dark figure detached itself from the outcropping, slinking behind Thor. It looked up, his laughing eyes and bared teeth glinting out of his shadowed face, and fought Loki's eye, then plunged a dagger into the back of Thor's neck. It yanked it out, and Thor slumped over, blood spurting; and Frigga's eyes slipped shut, her breath stilled._

_And Loki screamed._

* * *

They had been talking for almost an hour, and had a decent plan. Erik had revealed his findings about where and when the convergence would take place, and they had figured out a basic plan of attack, and then told Darcy about it. Jane had just gotten up to throw something together for lunch, when a raw, broken, terrified scream rang through the apartment.

Darcy started, Ian fell off his chair, Erik's eyes went wide, Jane dropped the pan she was holding, and Thor dashed to Loki's room, bursting through the door. He was quickly followed by the rest, piling round the doorway.

There was a long, thin-stretched, shocked silence, finally broken by Darcy's 'Oh my _god_.'

Loki was huddled in the middle of the bed, violently shaking, bony shoulders heaving with sobs, skeletal fingers tearing at his hear. He was thin, much thinner than he had been, joints protruding and skin waxy; and that skin marked over with scars. He rocked back and forth, murmuring to himself '_nononononomyfaultmyfaultshe'sdeadandit'smyfaultand_–' he broke of with another sob, then began his mutterings again.

It was Thor who first moved forward, tentatively approaching the bed.

"Loki?"

Loki's head whipped up, even as he threw his body backwards, hands raised in defence. His face twisted into an animalistic snarl, his eyes flashing with blind rage and terror. And then he recognised Thor, and his form slumped, convulsing with another sob; and they could appreciate the full horror of what the saw.

His face was a wretched, awful thing of nightmares. What Darcy had earlier observed to be flawless, smooth skin, was now marred by terrible burns along the right side, and dotted with other scars, of varying size. But the worst was his mouth, which was all around covered in pockmarked punctures scars, rips unevenly healed, grotesquely torn and improperly healed. Jane sank to the floor in shock, Darcy ran off with her hands over her mouth, Erik ran after her, and Ian collapsed in a dead faint.

"Loki..." Thor trailed off, arms hesitantly out, unsure. Loki stared at him unmoving, mangled face twisted in agonised sorrow, before throwing himself into Thor's arms, clutching him in a painful, sharp, bony grip; burying his face in Thor's shoulder. Thor met Jane's eyes over the trembling god in his arms, and Jane nodded, then quietly towed Ian's unconscious form from the bedroom.

And if the choked "I'm sorry, I killed her, it's my fault, I'm sorry, sorry, _sorry_." that followed her round the corner broke her heart, she didn't let it show.

And when, an hour later, Thor and Loki came out of the room, Loki whole, unscarred, and only healthily slim once again, not even Erik mentioned a thing.

* * *

**so I'm realising now that this is ****_really_**** short, but whatevs... I'll try to get another chapter done and up soonish. :)**


	5. hurt

**hello! I am here, with a new chapter! I hope you like it...Please leave a review!**

* * *

They were ready and out the door in five minutes. It was tense, hurried; Jane, Ian, and Darcy rushing round grabbing gear, Thor, hammer at his belt, helping in any way he could, and Erik distrustfully eying Loki as he slipped knife after knife into the various straps, flaps, pockets, sheaths, and boots, his face calm, composed, deadly-blank, his eyes icy cold, with a promise of death. Erik feared for this baddy, Malekith's, life.

And rightly so.

The battle lasted barely five minutes. Malekith arrived before they could finish setting up the poles, and was immediately besieged by two powerful, and _very_ angry gods. He never stood a chance.

At first there were equal burst of lightning, green magic, and deadly-sharp silver Aether, but the lightning quickly vanished, followed by the Aether, as Loki brutally tore at Malekith. Thor was left to hang on the sidelines, face twisted into sorrow, as he watched his brother scream and slash like an animal, driving the dark elf into the ground, clawing and punching and screaming screaming _screaming_.

And finally Malekith lay still, bloody, and mangled, his limbs askew, his face smashed almost flat; and still Loki hit him, again and again, his voice raw and torn. Thor softly approached him.

"Loki."

The screaming died down, turned to grunts and brief cries, and still Loki punched, slow, painful, as if every movement cost him.

"Loki..."

And now he was gasping, painful breaths and coughs with every weary, heavy slug, his shoulders trembling.

"Brother, it is over."

One final punch, and Loki slumped over, shoulders heaving, gasping and coughing and sobbing, fists clenched in the dead elf's tunic. Thor knelt by him, lay a hand lightly on his arm, and, when Loki didn't pull away, didn't stiffen or flinch, didn't scream or hit him or stab him with a knife, he dared lean his head forward, resting it on Loki's shoulder. And Loki let out a great shuddering sigh, and leaned back.

"It's all right, brother. Malekith is gone, and we have won. It is over."

"But mother is still dead." Loki lifted his eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with pink and tears. "She's still dead, and it's my fault."

"Oh Loki..." Thor threw caution to the wind, wrapping his arms around his brother and pulling him to his chest. "Oh Loki, Loki, it's not your fault. We talked about this. I do not blame you for mother's death."

Loki buried his face in Thor's shiulder, his body slumped and boneless, and dead-heavy. The lifeless flop of one worn out by tears. He heaved out a cough, Thor wincing at the tearing, bloody sound, and rasped out "But it was still my fault. I told that beast where to go..."

"Loki you did not know! It was not your fault, brother. Please hear me."

But Loki did not hear him, continuing glassy eyed. "They didn't let me go to her funeral, my own mother. But of course they didn't. I'm the one who killed her, it was me, and she's not even my _real_ mother, is she? She never could be. She was beautiful and wise and kind and _good_, and I am nought but a hideous monster. I am evil and twisted to the core, and all I can do is hurt and kill and destroy. She loved me. Why did she love me? Why would anyone love me? I am a horrible beast, a monster to hide in closets, the shadow under the bed, and I deserve the love of no one. I don't blame Odin for wanting to kill me, because that's all I deserve. Nothing more or less. It should be painful, it should hurt, and I should scream, because I am a _monster_, and I deserve–"

"ENOUGH!"

Loki's head snapped up, his gaze focusing on Thor, eyes wide and dazed.

"Enough, Loki. You are not a monster, no matter how much you tell yourself you are."

Loki's face twisted into a sneer. "What would you know _Thor_?" He wrenched himself from Thor's embrace, hissing at his not-brother. "You were always the _golden son._ Loved and adored by all, never questioned, mistrusted, blamed for _anything_. You could do _no wrong_, and I no _right_, and where you were cheered and praised I was scorned and dishonoured. So tell me not that I am _good_, Thor. I am a monster, and you would do well to remember that."

"No Loki–"

"SHUT _UP_, THOR!" Loki spat. They stood statue still if not for heaving chests and gasping mouths, only ragged breathing filling the air, trapped in a standstill.

Several feet off Jane, Darcy, Erik and Ian stood, staring at the scene before them. It seemed a moment trapped in time, the two brothers glaring at each other, equal amounts of pain, sorrow, and, in Loki's case, hate etched across their faces. And then Loki's gaze dropped, and he let out a short, mad laugh, turning from Thor. He moved several paces away, head tilted upwards. A wild, sad, manic grin played at his lips, and his pale, pink skin shifted, faded into deep blue. When he turned his face back to Thor, still kneeling upon the ground, his bloody eyes were twinkled with spite, and his teeth bared in a viscous grin.

"Can you look at me now, and still say that I am not a monster?"

Thor's face broke, crumpled into tears, "Loki, of course I can. What race you were born matters me not, you are still my brother."

Loki twisted away again. "I never knew you could lie this well, _brother_. I suppose you did learn from the best. Everyone knows that lying is the only thing I'm good at. Lying, and killing. And hurting. Because that I _am_ a monster is the only truth I have ever spoken, and no sweet words from your mouth can make it false."

Thor opened his mouth to protest, and Loki slammed an ice dagger into the earth an icy from his face. Leaning in close, he hissed "I am a _monster_, Thor. What must I do to prove it to you? Must I drive this dagger through your eye? Or perhaps that pretty mortal?"

Thor flinched, snarled. "Loki, your quarrel is with me, not Jane. Do not harm her, or I _will_ harm you."

Loki blinked, pulled back, and smiled, sweet and innocent. "So that is it." And then he was gone, and Jane was screaming, and Thor was roaring, and the two brothers clashed together in an explosion of green and red and ice and lightning.

Metal screamed and sparked, magic swirled and ozone filled the air. Both brothers were screaming, insults, pleas, hatred, sorrow, self-deprecation, assurances. Loki pounced upon Thor like a wild thing, clawing and shrieking.

And then, all of a sudden everything stilled. Thor stood, hammer loosely held in his hand, over the crumpled form of his brother. As Jane watched from the side, protectively held by Darcy and Erik, Loki pulled himself over, flopping to his back. His whole face and chest were caved and bloody, his face screwed into a madly grinning grimace of agony, sharp shallow breaths pulling his broken lungs. And then Mjolnir dropped from Thor's hand, and he fell to his knees, an long, sharp ice-dagger half melted slipping from his chest. His hands flew to the wound on his chest, and both brothers lay gasping and bleeding on the ground.

Finally, with a choked wet cough, Loki spoke. "So you see, Thor, it seems I am a monster after all."

And with that he flickered and vanished in a burst of green and swirling black, and Thor lay by himself, eyes unfixed and breathing shallow. Jane rushed to his side, Darcy called 911, Erik and Ian stared at the broken landscape.

* * *

A week and a half later, Thor returned to Asgard, where the Allfather raged at him for losing the traitor, and forbade him from returning to earth. And so Thor began his search for Loki in secret, with the help of but a few of his closest trusted friends.

* * *

**I sort of see this bit as showing how broken Loki really is, how torn up he is over Frigga's death, and how much he blames and hates himself, and how much he really doesn't know how to tell anyone, or ask for help. So yeah. Please review!:)**


	6. free

**This is by far the longest chapter yet. Generally I like it, there are some spots I don't love, but whatever... Enjoy! And please drop a review at the end! It's the replacement for the way too much sugar that I no longer put in my tea. **

* * *

Loki lay bloody on the ground, eyes shut, limbs relaxed, face smiling and blissfully free. He was free. Thor no doubt believed him dead, gone, insane, lost; and all it had taken was some screaming, threatening, a small wound, and an invisibility spell graced with unnecessary flair. He had thrown out an overly dramatic last word, and then cast the spell, and sat back to watch as Thor sobbed and grieved, his mortal comforted him, the rest of his puny band of Midgardian friends hung back, lost without the mighty Thor's guidance.

He had stifled the urge to laugh at the looks of shock, horror, pity, and, in Dr. Selvig's case, fear on their fragile little faces; dragging himself safely out of the way of accidental discovery. He had slumped to the ground, half resting against a mostly-untouched pillar, leaned his head back and closed his eyes, breathing out a steady breath, then frowning when it caught and bloodied halfway out of his mouth. He summoned his waning magic, and began a thorough examination of the damage to his body.

He was still for almost half an hour, his eyes closed, face blank. If not for the shallow rise of his chest, one might mistake him for a corpse. Deep in his trance, he was not awake to laugh at the tiny little humans bundling Thor into their Midgardian medical vehicle, rushing and barking orders. He was not awake to see, while Jane held tight to Darcy on the sideline, trembling, Erik and Ian by their sides. He was not awake to see the ambulance leave, Jane's beat up car following behind as fast as it's tired old engine could. He was not awake to mock them as they left their precious staples-and-duct tape scientific equipment behind, or what was left of it. When he finally slid his eyes open, the green was still and quiet, devoid of all activity, but burned and churned and wrecked, rubble and blood and ash carpeting the dirt, taped off to keep the inquisitive mortals away.

Loki's formerly blank face creased into a frown, and he pushed himself up, wincing and grunting. He held out his hand, pulling at the fabric of space, paused for a moment to calculate, and drew three stones from his inter-dimensional safe-box, then twisted the space-threads back to a whole. He crushed the healing stones over his minor surface wounds, breathing a sigh of pleasure as the skin re-knit itself and his magic purred and replenished.

When the stones were used up, he let his arm drop, closed his eyes for a moment, and revelled in the moment of almost-wellness. He thought he could, perhaps, simply lie there. If he did not move, his insides did not hurt, and it was calm, peaceful, warm. He could sleep for a bit, let his magic take its time and heal him slowly. But the tiny humans would be here to clean up soon, and even invisible he could still be felt. He could not risk his discovery, and so he forced his eyes open, placed his hands on his breast bone, and reached his magic towards his torn lungs.

It took time and energy, but Loki worked methodically, moving from lungs to the deep gash in his thigh, to his multiple fractured and broken bones. He did not stop for rest–for once you stop the work catches up to you, and it is harder to begin again–but pushed past the drain on his magic and the spinning in his head. He healed his body down to the smallest of injuries, and then slumped backwards once more, new-mended lungs heaving in exhaustion. He almost slipped up and fell asleep, but started at the sound of a car door slamming.

He forced himself to his feet, and began stumbling away from the green, and past the tape, pulling together his last vestiges of energy and magic. Once on the streets, he ducked into an alleyway, then dropped his invisibility, cast a simple glamour, and strode back out again a foot shorter, willow thin, with wildly curly red hair, and young, wickedly mischievous face. He tucked his hands into his green hoody, and started down the street, a spring in his step and a grin on his face. And he thought.

He pushed aside all unnecessary thoughts of Thor, Frigga, or Odin; of anything to do with Asgard and his old life. Because he was free, free to do as his pleased, start a new life, make friends who actually cared for him, be appreciated, and grieving could come later. Right now, he had to figure out where to start. He began dredging up all the information Clint Barton had given him on Midgard and it's workings.

First, he decided, he needed a place settle down, at least for one night, so he could rest, recover and plan. He mentally sorted through information, and came up with a hotel, which he understood was a sort of Midgardian inn. He glanced around, caught sight of a kindly looking older man, and walked towards him. He put on a cheerful smile, forced his voice an octave higher, and adopted what his information called an 'American accent.'

"Hello, sir?" The man liked up, slightly startled. Loki widened his smile. "Hi, sorry, ehm... I'm not from around here, I mean, obviously, and truth is I'm a tiny bit lost. Would you be able to direct me to nearest hotel?"

The man smiled back and told him, and Loki inwardly puzzled over how kind mortals could be. All his life he had been treated with a degree of scorn, polite indifference, terrified obedience, occasionally respect, but rarely ever true kindness from a stranger. It was refreshing, and if Loki found himself blinking slightly watery eyes as he thanked the old man, he chose to deny it, heading towards the hotel.

It was strange, how such a little gesture could mean so much. Loki had thought himself above such emotion, but as he walked along he found himself wiping at still wet eyes, and wondering. He had thought himself to hurt and broken and angry to be touched by such a small thing as kindly man, with honest joy in his eyes at helping a stranger. he could block out the sorrow of his own mother's death, but he could not stop the tears of gratitude from a simple gesture of kindness. Some god he was. He angrily dashed the tears from his eyes, and quickened his step.

He checked into the hotel under the name Lucas Friggason, why, he did not know, paying with conjured money. He received his room key with a tired smile, and trudged to the elevator, jabbing the sixth floor button then slumping back against the wall. He was out of the public, he could let his exhaustion show. When the elevator dinged, he once again pulled himself up, walking down the hallway till he came to his room, nodding at a woman he passed on the way. He fumbled out the room key, managed to open the door, and then collapsed onto the bed.

Thoughts of taking off his filthy clothes and armour, cleaning up, or climbing underneath the blankets crossed Loki's mind, but he made not move to do so. He simply lay unmoving, pressed flat against the bed by the invisible weight of bone-deep exhaustion, and let the events of the past day—the past _week_—wash over him. And the he curled over on his side, and cried himself to sleep.

* * *

Loki woke the next morning awake, re-energized, and disgusting. He groaned at the thick fog left behind from sleeping after crying, pulled himself to his feet, and staggered into the bathroom. He threw his grimy, greasy haired reflection a look of disgust, and stripped of his ruined armour, tunic, and pants. He paused, sniffed, brow creasing in perplexed wonder. Even through the synch of grime and sweat, the cloth still held on to the strange scent of Midgardian cleaning products. He did not know who, but one of Thor's merry band of mortals had cleaned his clothing while he was unconscious before, and yet again, he felt a strange surge of gratitude toward whomever had done it. He shook his head, threw the clothing to the floor. First the old man, now one of Thor's friends... he was becoming sentimental, and that wouldn't do. He stepped into the shower.

Loki ran the water as hot as it would go, then magicked it hotter, and let the scalding, steaming water wash off the grime and blood, easing his tense muscled. He stayed that way for a good half hour, then summoned the bottles of hotel shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel. He took a moment to examine the bottles, before pouring a generous amount of shampoo into his hand and massaging it through his hair. He rinsed it, squeaked it, and shampooed it again, then stood and let the water rinse it out again.

He spared the conditioner another glance, then gingerly set it aside. His hair finally felt properly clean, the last thing he needed was some disgusting oily Midgardian concoction making his scalp, neck, and back slimy. He quickly rubbed down with the shower gel, the turned off the water and stepped out, shaking his hair back.

Loki wrapped a towel around his waist, then waved his hands, clearing the steam and drying his body. His hair he left wet, and approached the mirror, contemplating his reflection, now that the battle-filth was gone.

_The first step to creating a new life here on Midgard is creating a new appearance. Can't have anyone recognising you. _

With another wave of his hands, The bottom six inches of Loki's hair sliced neatly off, and fell away into nothingness. He began twisting his fingers around, smoothing and snipping, a long layers, slightly shorter in the back than the front. A few shades lighter, with red highlights. The appropriate complexion changes. Tweak the eyebrows and eye colour, and minute changes to his other features. Finally, lose two inches in height, step back, admire.

And Loki did, taking in his altered appearance. His hair was now a rich, slightly-reddish brown, neatly cut at his chin, and parted over his left eye. His eyebrows had been tamed, thinned and lengthened, and his eyes were now stormy grey, with flecks of his former green. Paired with his slight loss in height, he looked almost completely different, yet exactly the same. He doubted it would hold up to the avengers, or anyone else who he had met face-to-face, but it was certainly enough to keep the common people from recognising him. He smiled to himself, scooped up his clothes from the floor, and exited the bathroom.

He set the ruined armour on the floor, turning his attention first to his tunic and pants. With a wrench of his hand, the blood and sweat were pulled from the fibres, leaving them clean, bright, and sweet smelling. Closing his eyes, he ran his hands slowly over the tears, weaving the threads back together, tweaking the style here and there, twisting it into a more Midgardian style. Finally, satisfied, he shook the tunic and pants out, then pulled them on, rolling his shoulders and stretching out his long limbs. It felt good to be clean, to wear clean clothes, to be free of tension. the cheer slid from his face. Not free of tension, of grief. It was diminished, cushioned, and what was left locked up, but not gone. It never would be, for can one ever truly forget the death of their family? For the second time that morning, he shook his emotions off.

His good mood ruined, he glared at his dirtied armour, and, in a split-second, angry decision, burnt it in a smokeless, wasteless fire. He stared at the empty spot for a long moment, then spun on his heel and strode out the door, casting the previous day's glamour over himself.

He wasted no time checking out, stepping out onto the street three minutes later, before once again stepping into an alleyway, and back out again in his slightly-altered, glamour-free face. He began wandering the streets again, planning his next action.

_Next I need a permanent place to stay. Money's not a problem, I can make as much of it as I want. Finding a decent place, though, is. And I'll need some kind of job, something to keep me occupied. Now the place to start is..._

And he walked by a pasty shop across the street, the many sweet and savory scents wafting under his nose, setting his stomach to grumbling. He let out a sigh of defeat, and stepped towards the shop.

_...getting a bite to eat._

Two minutes later, Loki was seated at a table in the shop, a 'chicken supreme' pasty and a mug of coffee in front of him. He absently munched on the pasty, taking a minute to appreciate the flavour, before turning his thoughts back to planning.

He decided that where he lived should be determined by the job he found; he could sleep in hotels until then. But what did he want to do? The only job he'd ever had was being a prince, and he doubted he could find that position on Midgard. His training as prince had given him many skills, combat skills, diplomacy, vast stores of knowledge...he did not see how fighting could come in useful, a diplomat was right out– working with high-ranking authorities, when he was no doubt on earth's 'most wanted' list?– but he could perhaps put his vast knowledge and inclination towards learning to some use. Perhaps a librarian, or some sort of professor._ I could teach Norse Mythology_, he chuckled to himself. Although, it was not actually that bad of an idea. What with his attack on New York last year, there was sure to be a good amount of interest in the subject, and who better to teach it than the god of mischief himself?

Pasty long gone, he pushed the plate away, placing his elbows upon the table and steepling his fingers under his chin. _This could actually work..._

Twenty minutes later, Loki's mind was made up, and he was back on the street, walking with purpose. His first stop would be library; he needed access to a computer, and it wouldn't hurt to find some books on Norse mythology. He did need to research exactly how badly Midgardians had messed up the Æsir's history. As he walked, he set out a detailed list of all he would need to do. First he needed to figure out where he needed to go, and that meant finding a school with a spot for a Norse mythology professor. Before he could move into anywhere permanently, he needed an identity, a past, so forging the necessary documents was next. Then moving to the area, applying, getting the position (there was no doubt in Loki's mind that he would), and settling in. Too easy, really.

Loki smiled. Things were looking up.


End file.
